SPECIAL THANKS to my beta reader Aurabolt! And I can't thank my reviewers enough. ^_^ I had sent this story as my first application to Portkey and while I wasn't denied, I'm afraid I hadn't made a good first impression with the mods. I had to send a different story which, thankfully, got approved! So now I can put this story out and I'm so glad to get favorable responses!
Standard disclaimers apply.
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Chapter Three - Rainbows in the Crystal
In which Hermione is disappointed and vengeful; Harry concerned and freaked-out; and Ron bemused and exasperated.
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When Hermione opened her eyes that morning, she realized that it was Saturday, and that the previous night, she had received a letter from none other than Mr. Thane Archibald and Mr. Winston Heartcomb telling her that while they thought her too young to be of much use to them, they would, nevertheless, tolerate her presence, and assistance, in their most honorable office. They pointed out that they originally intended to give her peanuts as payment (literally, and she had to shell them herself), but upon consultation with Minerva McGonagall, they decided on a rather sizable amount ("Enough to feed the whole of Westminster, if you ask me!" wrote Archibald.)
In actuality it was standard Ministry rates; perhaps a little bit higher, probably on account of McGonagall's interference. No doubt, her dear professor had played up the whole most brilliant witch of her age thing.
It wouldn't have mattered much to Hermione. She had every intention of doing a lot more than she was paid to do, and as long as she had ideas for Fred and George, she would have a pretty comfortable income besides.
Hermione smiled and challenged the brilliant rays of the sun streaming through her third story window. When Harry and Ron decided during her coma that they would live together in Grimmauld Place, they also decided their rooms would all be on the third floor. Ron would've wanted the attic (the preference had everything to do with his Burrow life, of course), but they weren't sure if the ghoul in the upstairs toilet was really gone or merely in hiding, and Ron wasn't keen on the idea that he could be attacked by a murderous ghoul while he was on the crapper.
"It's no way for a man to die, Harry. On the loo? No way, at all!" he had said.
So now they had all their rooms on the third floor, all of them facing East.
Drowsy but excited to begin the day, she crawled out of her large bed and went straight to her bathroom.
Her personal bathroom, once old and spitting rust from its pipes, was now a mosaic of color and charm. Its tiles were pristine, the knobs on its shower stall and sink gleaming pearly porcelain, and its curtains a perfect complement to everything else. She had her own tub, which was by Ron and Harry's standards too tiny, but it was perfect for her. She had pink candles all around that didn't drip wax and the enchanted ceiling overhead showed puffy white clouds during the day and a star spangled sky at night. But no matter the hour, it always smelled like lilac and sweet peas; her favorite bath scents. The scent was her shampoo, her soap, her lotion, her scrubs; Harry and Ron thought it was a grand mystery.
"How come her bathroom smells great while our bathroom… doesn't?" Ron had once asked while he and Harry rummaged through her supply cabinet for mouthwash.
"I dunno," said Harry. "But girls' bathrooms get that way. Hey, now! Don't these salts smell wonderful? Like raspberries and strawberries."
"Give me that. D'you reckon it tastes good?"
Hermione had, of course, caught them red handed, and Ron had the audacity to ask her, "Let me get this straight: This taaam-ponnn goes where?"
They never got to see the inside of her bathroom again after that, but every time she remembered the incident, she was glad she kept her bathroom sparkly clean and smelling great.
She took her sweet time showering, as was her wont, singing, as was also her wont. She liked the sound of her voice in her acoustically sound bathroom. When she was done, she prettied herself up in her best house clothes and, knowing she was the earliest one up, decided she would make a really good breakfast for her boys. They would be having sausages, eggs and waffles while she told them about her new job and the wonderful things that came with it. Then perhaps later, they can celebrate by eating out and watching a Muggle Movie, her treat. Ron would love that. He loves the movies. He found it fascinating.
Crookshanks was outside her door when she stepped out and he meowed piteously, rubbing against her legs.
Hermione patted him, making her way to the stairs.
She passed Ron's bedroom door. She paused briefly and reached out to turn the knob. It was locked.
Well, at least he's home.
She hurried down to the kitchens and was struck by the sight of Ron sprawled out on the couch, his robes in complete disarray. His long red hair was a tangled mess and he was hugging his Firebolt like a sword. He had taken one shoe off, forgetting to remove the other, but since it was the shoeless foot he had up on the couch, she decided she wasn't going to throw a fit. He was snoring and the sound of it reverberated through the room.
He also reeked of alcohol.
Hermione rolled her eyes. She supposed she would have to brew very strong coffee, and she didn't even want to ask why Ron's bedroom door was locked.
She left him there as she fed Crookshanks and made breakfast. She took special care making her waffles, adding a dab of mayonnaise to the batter and giggling at the remembrance of Harry and Ron wondering out loud how in the world she made them taste so good, all crunchy on the outside and fluffy on the inside.
"Even mum don't make them this good," said Ron. "Don't tell her I said that."
She happily assembled breakfast. The coffee, sausages and eggs were perfect when she heard Harry's footsteps on the stairs. He stopped for a few seconds, probably to absorb the sight of Ron, before he headed for the kitchen.
She smiled at him. "Good morning, Harry!"
He smiled back, heading straight for the coffeemaker. He gave her the briefest once over before getting a mug to pour himself some coffee. "Great breakfast, good coffee, and you, looking rather cute in your sundress. What's the occasion?"
She blushed at the compliment. "I'll tell you later. First, I have to wake up Ron." She poured coffee into a mug and dug out a magically preserved potion in a vial from one of their many drawers. She used her wand to relieve it from suspension and poured the vial's contents into Ron's coffee. It was a hang-over potion and it should work within minutes after ingestion. She went back to the living room.
She set the mug aside and heard Harry following behind her to watch the morning entertainment.
Ignoring Harry, she bent over Ron and shook him by the shoulder gently. "Ron? Ron, dear, wake up."
"Five more minutes mum…" he muttered, shrugging his shoulder away from her.
Hermione pursed her lips and she heard Harry snickering. She loved Molly Weasley, but goodness knows she could hardly be mistaken for the kind matronly woman.
She shook him again and he groaned, turning over to show his back to her.
"Shove off, Renee. I did all the work last night…"
Hermione heard a ringing in her ears like never before. What did he call me? "Ronald Bilius Weasley!" she shrieked, slapping him pertly on his forehead. "Do I look like one of your bimbos?"
The slap woke him in a hurry and he sat up, eyes half-closed. "Gah! Son of a-that hurt, you bi-"
"You just try and call me by that infernal name, Ronald Bilius Weasley!" she yelled.
Ron fell off the couch in his panic, his horrified gaze trained on her face as he realized his mistake just right before he made it. "Fuc-S-Sorry! Shhhite!" He moaned in pain, hands to his head. He valiantly went on. "Wasn't going to say it, really! Not to you--!"
She glared at him. "Your mother would be ashamed that you even know how to use the word, you git! How could you?"
"I wasn't going to call you that!" He winced. "Merlin, what time is it?"
"Nine in the morning," said Harry as he drank his coffee. He wasn't smiling, but his eyes sparkled. He was vastly amused by all this.
"Nine in the morning!" cried Ron. "Too early for a shit storm, I tell you."
"Humph!" she said, holding out the coffee she brought him. "Here. Drink this, then."
Ron looked at it suspiciously.
Hermione scowled. "What are you waiting for? It's not poisoned! If I wanted to poison you, I'd be more creative than putting it in your coffee."
"It's terrifying how true that is," he said, taking the cup and finally drinking from it. The potion was designed to have a few immediate effects and it showed on Ron's face. Some of the crinkling around his eyes cleared. "Blimey, that's good… thanks."
"That's better. Now if you can get your half-drunk arse off the floor, maybe I'll let you join Harry and I for breakfast." She left him, and Harry followed right after her, the morning entertainment done.
It was awful, the way Ron carried on sometimes after his nights out. She was never angry when she saw him; not really, just that even with the Whereabouts Clock, she found she was often so relieved to see him at home and alive. However, when the relief came, that was when things sort of rushed out of her. It was only lately she understood why Molly Weasley carried on the way she did with her children, fussing over them as if they were still in diapers.
"Honestly, when is he going to grow up?" she asked out loud as she began to cook the waffle batter.
Harry grinned, waving his wand to set the table. "You're expecting him to? That's giving him rather too much credit."
"I heard that!" cried Ron.
She exchanged grins with Harry.
When the table was set and she had all the waffles ready, she called Ron over impatiently. "Get your arse over her, Ron!"
Ron ambled in, wincing while he tried to keep his head steady. No doubt he had a hangover headache the size of Great Britain, but the potion should take care of it soon enough.
"If breakfast didn't smell so good, I wouldn't put up with your nagging, I'll tell you that," grumbled Ron, plopping down on a chair.
She scowled as she passed the butter to Harry. "Don't go blaming us for your hangover, Ron. If you weren't so hell bent on making yourself dead pissed before coming home, you wouldn't have locked yourself out of your room by accident."
"I'd have been able to open it with a simple alohomora or apparated inside it if you hadn't made the locking charms in this house so damn complicated…"
"And have you boys walk into my room while I'm in my knickers? No way!"
Ron grinned broadly. "Like I said, 'too damn complicated'."
She blushed as she glared at him. "Oh, shut it, Ron! Besides, do you really want to be apparating while you're intoxicated? I'm sure you'd splinch yourself sterile."
Ron scowled, muttering, "I splinch my eyebrows once… just once and I'm Mr. Splinch-It forever."
Harry levitated a blueberry and darted it straight at Ron. Ron flicked his wand and splattered it to bits with a muttered Eruptio. Unfortunately, his half-pissed aim caused the bits to blow up in his face.
Harry laughed, piercing a piece of sausage. "Great aim. That hang-over potion working yet?" He ate the sausage, chortling.
Ron wiped off the bits of blueberry with his napkin. "Before the pair of you convict me of my crimes, I'll have you know that last night, I was trying to get a job."
Well, that did manage to void all her thoughts, and seeing as Harry had left his fork stuck in his mouth as he stared at Ron, Harry was quite nonplussed himself.
And then her senses began to return to her and she frowned. "Oh, honestly, Ron! That's disgusting! I'd ask you not to bring such things up while we're eating!"
Harry sputtered and it looked as if the sausage was going down the wrong way. Concerned, Hermione began to slap his back to help him.
Ron's eyes widened. "What? Bloody hell! I wasn't talking about a hand job! I was talking about a real job! A means to a career!"
Distracted by Harry's conniption fits, Hermione continued to berate Ron while she gave Harry a glass of water. "What kind of a job is it if you have to get drunk trying to get it? I don't think this job-whatever it is-is good for you and-"
"Chudley Cannons need a new manager. I put in my resume two weeks ago and the owner called me in for a dinner meeting last night. He doesn't know if I can do it properly right off the bat, but he said the publicity I could generate just being myself would help the team loads, and it'll be worth having to train me for a quarter-of-a-year. Naturally, when he invited me to have a few drinks with him and his cronies, I couldn't say no, so off I went, getting pissed, but I got the job, too."
There was another several seconds of silence before it finally hit her.
When it did, she was filled with gladness and pride. It was everything Ron wanted. To get a job with the Chudley Cannons! She would have thought he'd be playing with the team instead of working for it, but a manager's job suited his talents better. He may have been a Keeper in Hogwarts, but he wasn't a particularly brilliant one. Team Manager for the Chudley Cannons was perfect for him.
She jumped out of her seat and threw her arms around him, smiling. "Oh, Ron! I'm so proud of you! This is wonderful news! You have a job!"
Harry was beside them, clapping Ron on the back jubilantly and shaking his hand with brimming enthusiasm.
"Listen to this woman, why don't you?" cried Ron. "I can't tell if she's happy I got the job or happy I have a job, as if I were some bum on the streets…"
Hermione pulled away from him, laughing as she dealt him a light, playful slap. "Oh, hush Ron. I'm happy about both. It's no proper thing for an intelligent man like yourself to live off your popularity. Popularity fades, you know."
Harry laughed. "She thinks you're intelligent, Ron!"
Ron grinned. "Shut it, Potter! What she doesn't know won't hurt her. But I'll have you know, mum, that the only reason I got this job in the first place is because I am popular."
"That's true, but by the time your popularity runs out, you'd have been trained to do the job well and they wouldn't dream of sacking you, then," Hermione said, returning to her seat.
"You've got it all figured out, haven't you?" said Ron, taking his utensils and beginning to assemble his waffle breakfast. "So am I forgiven for coming home drunk?"
"I don't know," she replied. "What do you think, Harry?"
Harry was pouring maple syrup on his waffles as he smiled. "Do we get front row seating at Quidditch games for the rest of our lives?"
"At least!" said Ron.
"Then yes, we forgive you."
Hermione frowned. "Well, that's not fair. I don't care much for Quidditch. What's in it for me?"
Ron's eyes twinkled. "You do have a penchant for Quidditch Seekers. Maybe I can introduce you to Galvin Gudgeon."
Hermione felt her face grow so hot from embarrassment that she wanted to hex Ron for it. It wasn't so much that he wanted to introduce her to Gudgeon, nor was it the fact that she happened to attract the Bulgarian Quidditch Seeker, Viktor Krum, but it was the fact that she did have very deep feelings for the Gryffindor Seeker and he was sitting right there that made her want to crawl underneath a rock and hide.
"D-Don't even think about it!" she cried.
"Shut it, Ron!" said Harry, his ears pink.
Oh, goodness, I think he's thinking it, too! How awkward! she thought miserably.
She scrambled to steer the conversation to safer waters. "So, Ron, when do you start? Do they pay you while they're training you?"
He nodded. "Oh, absolutely, but not much while they're teaching me the brooms. After I'm officially trained, I'll get the regular manager's pay, which isn't bad pay at all! I'll start training on Monday, so it's all good."
Harry cut his waffle. "Ron, you do realize that once you start this job, you can't go partying every night anymore, right?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Listen to yourself, Harry. You're beginning to sound like Hermione! Of course the partying will stop! Or at least lessen…"
She exchanged amused glances with Harry.
It suddenly occurred to her that she had great news, too, and while her job was a little less-well, a lot less, really-glamorous than Ron's, it was important enough to steal the limelight from him. She would be putting away Death Eaters, for goodness sake! The mere concept of it would eclipse Ron's grand news, so she decided to put off telling them and letting Ron enjoy the moment. She could tell them later, when she took them out in her parents' car. Ron and Harry liked riding the BMW. They said she drove like a maniac and that was the best part.
"So we should celebrate tonight, then!" she said by way of introducing the idea. "I can drive us around London, have dinner then see a movie. I'll treat! What do you boys think?"
Both boys winced. Not good.
"Shacklebolt has me in for the entire day and I'm not sure what time he'll let me go," said Harry.
Hermione frowned. "On a Saturday?"
"Er-Auror's job is never done? I can definitely follow if Shacklebolt lets me off early enough, though. I can use the mobile to call you. Sound good, Hermione?"
Hermione's frown morphed into a smile. That was certainly a workable arrangement.
"I've a date tonight," said Ron with an apologetic grimace. "Sorry. But I really appreciate your wanting to celebrate, Hermione."
Harry shot Ron a glare and Ron shrugged helplessly.
Her enthusiasm deflated completely. What was the point of celebrating Ron's job if Ron wasn't there? And she wanted to tell them both about her job, too. Was it too much to ask to have her best friends with her on a night out in London?
Bugger.
She pouted. Really pouted.
Ron gave an audible sigh. "Well, don't get like that! It wouldn't be polite of me to cancel on her in the last minute."
"It's fine, Ron," she said. She couldn't hide the dejection from her tone.
"I might be here tonight," said Harry, by way of making her feel better. "We can watch soaps on the Eklectic Telly."
Eklectic Telly. That's what they called it to tease Ron. Ron thought it was a brilliant device, but he was too afraid that he'd get "eklectricuted" to ever turn it on himself in he could help it. Harry had to have the power supply specially installed, and since it was rare to have a Wizard electrician, Harry had to pay a lot of galleons to make it work, but he wanted the T.V., possibly because the Dursleys had deprived him of it all his life and now he wanted one of his own.
"You might be here," said Hermione. She was in no mood to be cheered up. She seriously needed a life if her going out was completely dependent on Ron and Harry's free time. "It's alright, Harry. I'll just-"
There was a tapping on the windowpane. It was Hedwig again, and this time, aside from the letters, she carried an elegantly wrapped box. The gold wrap shimmered against the light, throwing rainbows off the windows and cupboards. The ribbon holding it slowly flashed various colors in deep shades.
Harry got up to fetch the mail. Hedwig was soon off and Harry was back on the table. He handed the package to Hermione. "Says it's for you."
Hermione blinked. "Odd… who would-" She looked at the tag and the sender's name was magically revealed to her. It was from Lysander. "What in the world…"
She took hold of one end of the ribbon and started to pull.
Harry and Ron yelled for her to stop.
"Aren't you going to check for dangerous spells?" Harry cried.
Ron scowled. "Blimey, Hermione! I thought you were the smart one."
She frowned. "Oh, both of you are being ridiculous! Ly-Mr. Athanasius wouldn't hex me."
Ron's brows knotted. "Who?"
Harry's eyebrow arched, his look of panic replaced with an unreadable calm. "Athanasius. Wizard billionaire. Hermione met him yesterday."
"What's a billionaire doing sending you fancy packages, Hermione?"
She decided to ignore them both, unwrapping the box while conscious of the expectant looks on the boys' faces. She opened the box and gasped at what she saw inside. She brought it out. It was a perfectly cut crystal image of an Elf in Muggle Corporate attire.
She laughed, getting the joke. "Brilliant!" she said.
"What in hell is it?" asked Ron.
Suddenly, she didn't feel like explaining. Not to them. It wasn't their fault they had lives, and she should really have her own, but she couldn't help but feel a bit abandoned by them, so she let herself be a bit snitty.
"It's an Elf," she said loftily.
"An elf doesn't dress like that," Harry pointed out.
"This does," she replied, her eyes flashing. "Unlike some people I know, Mr. Athanasius has shown a genuine interest in Elf Rights. Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll skip the rest of breakfast. I have a bit of shopping to do."
She needed to buy a Muggle cocktail dress, and shoes to match, of course.
Her boys had let her down, tonight. It was time she gave other boys a chance.
000000000000000000000000000
Harry went to work that afternoon and gladly found himself being released earlier than he expected. He rushed to the fireplaces to get home. He wasn't sure why he was in such a hurry, but he thought maybe if he got home early, Hermione wouldn't feel so bad about not going out, and he'd feel less guilty about all of it.
He was painfully aware of how badly he and Ron had neglected Hermione in the last few months. It wasn't so bad when they were all trying to cope with the End of War fanfare. The interviews and publicity had kept them all preoccupied, but these past couple of months, when she and he began distancing themselves from the hoopla by finding jobs, he knew he hadn't spent as much time with her as he should have.
He wasn't sure if Ron realized it yet, but Harry did, and he felt terrible for it.
When Hermione was in her coma, he had promised, with everything he had, that he would never take Hermione for granted again. He promised to take care of her, and protect her if it was necessary. It was easy enough to believe he would do as he promised while she lay unconsciously close to death, but now that everything was near to perfect, he knew he wasn't fulfilling his promises at all. Or else, he was doing a half-arsed job of it.
And it wasn't as if he didn't like taking care of her. It was a joy, really. Seeing her happy in his and Ron's company was just too delightful a thing to pass up, but his schedule… he wished he had a time turner. So he could give her the time she deserved.
The memory of her disappointment at breakfast broke his heart for the nth time that day. She had something important to tell them; he remembered her saying that, but apparently, she had forgone it, opting instead to be happy for Ron and his new job. She probably didn't know Harry knew it, but he did, and he felt so bad that she put off her own news to celebrate for Ron then got turned down dismally when she offered to take them out tonight.
And then that elf figurine came.
Harry frowned. What the hell is Lysander Athanasius doing sending her little crystal elves? Thinks he's being funny, isn't he? Well, ha-ha-bloody-ha!
The git's romancing her. Fucking Bugger…
He didn't have anything against wizard billionaires, per se; they were capital fellows when they weren't Death Eaters and when they weren't going after dear little Hermione.
Of course, they could have been scrubbing toilets for a living and Harry would still be at their throats.
It had nothing to do with a wizard's career, or how rich (or poor) he was. Unless Harry was sure, beyond reasonable doubt, that the blokes weren't prats, none of them were allowed to get near her without his watchful eyes in the background.
And then there was Ron, the idiot who let Hermione slip from his fingers. Harry was so ready to see Hermione happy with Ron, but nooo. Ron had to go and snog Lavender; he had to go snog the whole of Wizarding Europe!
There went the only man he would ever trust Hermione's heart to. Now she was left to consider prats like Viktor Krum and Lysander Athanasius.
Why'd they have to be so damn impressive? An International Quidditch star? A business mogul billionaire? This would've been so much easier if they were intellectual losers and dorky dolts, he thought grimly. But I suppose Hermione wouldn't attract deadbeats. The lot of them would be too intimidated to try. Of course she'd be hauling in the big-shots.
Like I said: Buggers.
He couldn't be blamed for being so partial, at least not since he realized just what all his vacant staring at her in the last two and a half years meant. All sorts of things shifted while she was sleeping, and a few weeks after she woke, he realized two things: (1) He was in love with his best friend; and (2) Had been in love with her for the better part of two and a half years. Why hadn't he realized it sooner? Well, there was Voldemort, see…
So bloody well Avada Kedavra me if I have feelings for her. That's not my fault, is it?
And it wasn't, really. One such as himself couldn't be expected to maintain platonic feelings with one such as herself who saved his life countless times and was willing to pay the ultimate sacrifice for him. It couldn't be helped either that the mere memory of her willingness to stick by him through the best and worse of times warmed him to the point of desire. It was completely natural that he would have these feelings, and he'd be damned to hell if he sat back and let some moron come along and sweep her off her feet; at least not without his approval.
Of course he could've just told her his feelings, but he already decided that it wouldn't do. He had three reasons-well, just one, really, but originally, there were three: First, she apparently didn't have that kind of interest in him.
Out of all the women that had ever been part of his life before and after seventh year, she hadn't shown a modicum of jealousy, not one blessed hint. The only reason he went out with those women at all was to find someone he could "move on" with. Someone who could make him forget.
That hurt. That sucked, but if he lost her friendship because he was fool enough to confess, he'd probably go mental.
Secondly, he knew (or thought) Ron fancied her, and Ron was his best friend, so Harry wasn't exactly about to do something as horrible as try to take Hermione away from Ron. Harry thought it was bad enough that he, Ron's best friend, had gone and dated Ginny; he should have been thankful Ron hadn't renounced their friendship right then and there.
Lastly, he thought Hermione fancied Ron, what with all those canaries…
Obviously, the last two reasons no longer applied, but it didn't mean the first reason wasn't any less significant.
So that was the way it was, and the best he could hope for was letting some worthy bloke have her.
It was supposed to be Ron…
And now it seemed it couldn't be.
He had to hurry home. He just had to. Whatever the reason, the need was urgent, like something in his head was telling him that he had to get home.
He almost crashed into Tonks as he rounded a corner.
"Wotcher, Harry!" Her green hair trembled.
"Sorry!" He skidded to a halt to avoid colliding with her, then he made a sharp turn to go on his merry way.
It was seven thirty in the evening and perhaps Hermione hadn't reached full-mope.
His trip to the Atrium, up the elevator to Muggle London and his subsequent apparition into 12 Grimmauld Place took about ten minutes (the phone booth was pretty crowded).
The lights in the house were still on so at least that meant Hermione wasn't moping in the library. He was just about to make a stop at the kitchen for some pumpkin juice when he thought he saw a most astonishing sight pass the kitchen entrance.
It had been a blur of maroon and purple, red shoes and shimmering brown ringlets of hair. And there was skin. Lots of it.
He stumbled out in the hallway and found Hermione in a cocktail dress, busily rummaging through her matching purse. The fancy envelope she received the other night was tucked between her fingers.
He took the briefest moment to absorb her look. The length of the skirt reached her knees, but her arms, shoulders and back were bare except for the two string-like straps that were dubiously delicate. She had a necklace on; an intricate beadwork choker up front that had a diamond shaped ruby-like stone hanging from a chain like a pendulum down her back. It was harmless, by itself, but sliding down her spine like that, it made him want to see exactly what the stone was pointing to.
Harry had to control his temper. Where was she going and where was she going in that?
"Where the hell's the rest of the dress?" he cried before he could stop himself.
Hermione looked up in surprise, blushed, then scowled. "There's nothing wrong with the dress. It's perfect."
"For what?"
She narrowed her gaze at him before she decided she'd be haughty, instead of angry. "For a gallery opening; a perfectly respectable gallery opening, thank you very much, and I'd appreciate it if you don't make me feel like a slag."
His face warmed, feeling the tiniest bit ashamed. "Sorry," he muttered. "You don't-you don't look like a slag. You look great, but shouldn't you… I don't know, cover up… a little. Shawl, maybe…?"
"It's the way the dress is supposed to be, Harry." She dealt him a weary look before walking past him to go to the reception hall.
He followed. She really did look fantastic in her cocktail couture, and as far as Muggle clothing went, it was terribly tasteful, but…
Who's she dressed up for?
Seeing her now in her Muggle finery was astonishing, distressing and sexy all at the same time.
"So where is this gallery supposed to be?" he asked, wondering if the straps of her dress were holding the dress up or whether they were purely ornamental.
"In Paddington." She looked into the mirror while she put on lipstick, setting down her bag and the envelope on the small table in front of her.
"Paddington! You're going to drive all the way there on your own? I'm going with you."
"What are you talking about?" she cried. "It's barely three miles away! And I'm going to apparate there, Harry. Honestly! Sometimes you're more muggle than I am. And no, you cannot come with me."
"And why not?"
"Because-Because it's by invitation only!" She blushed again, pulling her gaze away from him as she fluffed her hair.
The mirror spoke. "You look wonderful, Ms. Granger! Fabulous! Gorgeous! You'll-"
Shut it! he wanted to yell. "Look, Hermione, it's late. You really shouldn't be out on your own. Lots of crazy people out there-"
"Newsflash! The war's over. It's not as dangerous as it used to be."
"Who said anything about Dark Wizards? Do you even remember how awful muggles could be? They'll stick you up with a switchblade for twenty pounds!"
"Oh, honestly, don't be such a drama king," she hissed irritably.
Ron, possibly drawn by the sound of bickering, appeared from the other entrance. He stopped in his tracks to stare at Hermione and he scowled. "Well, what in hell is that on you? Are you sure that's all of it?"
Harry made a "told you so" sound and crossed his arms over his chest. She dealt him another glare before transferring it to Ron. This time, she looked to have crossed her limit.
"It's a perfectly decent dress!" she yelled.
"It's clinging to you for dear life! Are those straps even useful? What the hell kind of jewelry is that? It's practically saying 'Look here!'"
"Argh! Just you two leave me alone!" she cried, stomping her perfectly clad foot, high-heels giving a satisfying clop on the wooden floor. "I asked you two to go out tonight but you were both too damn busy, so what the hell am I suppose to do? Wait and jump at the chance for when you're free? Well, no effing way! I am going out there tonight for a bit of my own fun. Yes, my own. No Harry. No Ron! I don't know why you're both being so snitty about it, anyway. You seemed to have built your post-Voldemort lives without me and I never complained. I think I'm entitled to have friends outside the two of you without you biting my head off for it. If my getting a life bothers you, then you can both sod off and… and… and screw yourselves!"
And with that, she disapparated, leaving Harry and Ron slack jawed by her parting shot. Not that they've never heard her swear; they'd listened to her spew a profanity or two every once in a while, but at them? This was almost tragic!
When Harry regained his senses, he threw down his workbag. He didn't even know he still had it on. "Gods damn it, Ron! Why'd you have to fucking go and bite her head off?"
"Well, don't go blaming me for it!" cried Ron. "From what she said, it wasn't just my fault!"
Harry sighed exasperatedly, throwing his hands up. "You know Ron, you were here the whole day. You could've offered to go shopping with her, and maybe she wouldn't have bought that stupidly sexy dress!"
"Since when has my opinion of her clothes mattered to her? Merlin! If she ever listened to me, she wouldn't be buying those ridiculously expensive shoes!"
"Hex it! What are we going to do now?"
Ron stared at him, almost shocked. "What do you mean, What are we going to do now? We're not going to do anything! She's right, Harry. You and I go out there and have fun while she stays here and does whatever it is she does… we should go easy on her now that she wants to go out on her own. She's perfectly capable of taking care of herself and making the right decisions, in case you haven't noticed. Hermione's too smart to let some git-"
"Are you nutters, Ron? Do you know how many crazy, randy, disgusting blokes are out there just waiting for someone like Hermione to show up beside them on some bar, or dance with them in some club? Hermione could be pretty damn well attractive when she wants to be, you know!"
"I know that," said Ron through grit teeth. "But what are you going to do? Lock her in her room and let her be alone the rest of her life? Come on, Harry. You know you don't want that for her."
He didn't, and for once, Ron was right on so many levels, but that dress!
"Maybe… maybe we should just make sure she gets there alright. You know, just to be sure…"
"Harry, we don't even know where she's going."
Harry paced. Honestly, he wasn't sure what he was so worried about, but something in his instincts screamed for him to obsess, to be vigilant. Mad-eyed Moody would be proud. It whispered insistently enough when he was in the Ministry, how he felt he should get home as quickly as he could, and now this.
He couldn't place it, but it was there.
His eyes fell on the small table in front of the mirror. On it was her tube of lipstick and the envelope. She had forgotten both in her anger.
He hoped it was what he thought it was. He pulled out its contents.
It was the invitation. It contained a description of the event, where it was going to be held and who was responsible for it.
Lysander Athanasius.
"That prat!" growled Harry. He was just about to tuck the invitation into his robe when he saw another important detail: The invitation had been for three.
Whatever she wanted to do tonight, she had decided she would go it alone. But he would have to worry about that later. He knew where she was going.
"I know where she is," said Harry. "I'll apparate us together and we'll-"
"Um, Harry, see I have a date."
Harry paused to give Ron a look. He was indeed dressed to go out with a witch. Harry frowned. "Well, stand her up! This is more important."
"More im-I'm not going to give up my social life watching Hermione's! She's having fun without us! What the hell is the big deal?"
Big deal? thought Harry, his temper rising. He strode over to Ron, eyes alight with suppressed anger. Ron may be several inches taller than him, but he was never afraid to get in anyone's face. He had done it with Voldemort several times; he sure as hell can do it with Ron. "The big deal, Ron, is that she shouldn't ever have to lie by omission to have fun without us, but she did. If we didn't screw up so spectacularly by making her feel so neglected, she wouldn't want to get back at us by going out there by herself when she could've asked us to go with her!" He shoved the invitation against Ron's chest. "I don't know about you, but I'm going there to watch over her. I don't care if she catches me and tells me she'll never speak to me again. She will, anyway. The both of us mean too much to her and I want it to stay that way if I have to beat it down your throat."
Harry picked his bag up from the floor. His invisibility cloak was in it and he had a feeling it would be useful. "I'll apparate Northeast of Hyde Park, as close to the gallery as I can get without leaving the park. I hope I see you there."
Taking out his wand, he shot Ron one last glare before he disapparated with a crack.
0000000000000000000000
Ron stared at nothing. He was alone in the house. The silence suddenly felt overbearing.
Crookshanks sauntered into the reception hall, tail held high without paying the least attention to anything around him. The cat-kneazle settled beneath the reception hall table, curling up with his paws tucked into his chest without a care in the world.
"Bloody beast is mocking me," Ron muttered.
On the floor were the contents of the envelope that Harry had apparently found so distressing. Reluctantly, Ron picked it up. It was creased, having been crumpled in Harry's hand, no doubt from anger, or maybe frustration. It was hard to tell with Harry sometimes.
Ron really didn't want to follow Hermione; or at least, that's what he thought at first. The girl wanted to go out for goodness sake, and she probably had a date, too. While he wasn't about to stand by and let just any jerk take her from them, he wasn't going to stop her from trying to find someone who might make her happy, either. Frankly, he thought Harry was overreacting just a tiny bit, but he was used to Harry being that way; so fiercely protective about everyone, especially Hermione who had almost died saving his life.
But Harry had said something about Hermione lying. Worse, he had said something about Hermione lying so they wouldn't go with her. It almost sounded as if she had deliberately left them behind, and that was-Ron admitted-somewhat disturbing.
Since when had Hermione stopped wanting to be with them?
But unsettling as that was, it wasn't the kind of lie that would move Ron to run in circles while screaming. He felt more hurt than freaked out, so he couldn't exactly understand where Harry's ravings were coming from.
Granted, Harry had a saving-people-thing that often got him (and everyone he took with him) in serious trouble, and at the very least, Harry had an uncanny ability to have near-psychic hunches, but the war was over; the bad guy had been defeated; what was Harry so worried about?
Guy's gone mental.
Ron frowned, wondering for the nth time whether Harry's concern for Hermione these days pushed the envelope of friendship a bit too far. Ron didn't want to seem daft, but the three of them had been the best of friends for years, and it was just difficult to see Harry going for Hermione in that way. Or was it? After all, Ron had, at some point, seen Hermione as someone more than a friend, but considering the status of their relationship now, he often found himself asking, "What was I thinking?"
Not that Hermione wasn't "snoggable". In the last two years, Hermione had grown extremely snog-worthy, especially in those Wizard's Compendium photos, but he had transcended that physical attraction, upon which he could say, with utmost sincerity that she looked good, but it didn't make him want to actually snog her.
Between him and Harry, Ron had always considered himself more prone to trying for a relationship with Hermione, and since Ron found himself getting past that, he was almost certain that issue in their trio was done. It never occurred to him Harry would be part of that issue. Hermione was so not Harry's type if Cho and Ginny were any indication.
Cho and Ginny were so athletic, heart-wrenchingly gorgeous and yes, they had luscious straight hair. Hermione was bookish (mind-numbingly intelligent), had bushy chestnut hair and while pretty enough at first glance, wasn't particularly a stand-out beauty. She only started to look really beautiful when you began to learn how to appreciate the glow she emanated when she had one of her many brilliant ideas. It wasn't to say Harry didn't like quirky, intelligent women; he just seemed to like them show-stoppingly out-going. Hermione had her really awesome moments, but most times, she preferred the quiet of the library, she scorned parties and she thought Quidditch ridiculous.
So exactly what did Harry see in Hermione? Apparently not the usual draws. Hermione had saved Harry's life more times than Ron could count. She covered their arses when it counted most and she broke rules with them, if only to keep them from getting caught. She was braver than most people Ron knew and she was one hell of a powerful witch. Terrifying, really, but Ron could understand how Harry thought all of it positive.
And then there was that best friend thing… that thing which Ron had been trying to figure out since fourth year.
Ron considered Harry to be his best mate, and it was safe to assume Harry saw him in the same way. They, like most blokes, had disagreements, shook hands on it or exchanged fists on occasion, but they were best friends in the boys club. They understood matters as only boys could, and they understood one another even more because they were best chums. So if one of them burped loudly, there was no need to apologize, and if the Chudley Cannons lost, they didn't need to talk about it; a moment of silence would suffice, and Harry knew it.
So, perhaps it was this boy-hood that had Ron puzzling over how Harry and Hermione managed their best friend thing. Ron's bickering with Hermione defined their relationship; straight and simple. Harry and Hermione were more complicated than that.
Hermione's main flaw was her propensity to nag. She nagged them about anything that she thought they tended to neglect. When they were in school, she nagged them about doing their homework. When they were at war, she nagged them to practice their spells and first-aid charms. When they moved in together, she nagged them about putting down the toilet seat in the common bathroom. She was a nag, but to be fair, she nagged only when necessary. Ron hated it. Harry didn't mind, at least not as much as Ron. When Hermione got on their case for leaving messes of chips and peanuts in the viewing room, Ron's reaction was to keep leaving messes. Harry never left a mess again. So on nagging alone, Harry was strangely resilient.
Ultimately, Hermione's nagging was her way of showing how much she cared, but Ron noticed that he was less on the receiving end of Hermione's more gentle ministrations than Harry was. Harry always got gently offered potion for his hangovers; always got offered the last bit of pumpkin pie; always asked about whether he had anything that needed laundering since she was going to wash her own clothes anyway…
Laundry! In what world did BEST FRIENDS do that? Honestly!
Harry received tender loving care when he was sick as opposed to Ron who often got told to "Drink your potion and stop being a baby! And get into your ice-bath before I push you in myself!" Of course, this was usually because Harry was a more compliant patient than Ron.
And then they had those friendly kisses and tender caresses; the unnecessary hugs they gave one another; and the reading of each other's minds with a single look. Harry and Hermione often said something along the lines of: "You have that look on your face again!" as if they hadn't said that about each other in twenty different, completely unrelated instances. It was as if they had a "Look Language" and they were the only two people who understood it.
Ron didn't have any of that from Hermione. No kissing, no touching, no nothing. It wasn't as if they repulsed each other; it just wasn't natural with them. They could sit side by side on a table and the closest they'd come to touching was when the fork clattered to the floor between them and they'd butt heads trying to catch it.
So maybe now that Ron had thought more on it, it was possible for Harry to have something for Hermione, and this was Harry's way of pursuing it.
Harry hadn't shown interest at all before, so how could he, now? Hermione hadn't changed so much to suddenly call the attention of Harry Bloody Potter. She was still Hermione, but… was Harry still Harry?
Oh, Ron didn't mean the question in the Barty Crouch-Mad Eyed Moody way. He simply meant to ask whether the last two and a half years hadn't significantly changed Harry's perception of his ideal woman. That was, after all, the only thing that would make sense in the Harry and Hermione scheme of things.
Ron looked at the paper in his hand again. It looked like an invitation, the address clearly written out at the bottom.
Harry thought he had reason to be worried. Harry believed there was something "not right". Ron had a distinct feeling he was being drawn into another Aragog situation.
Bugger. Why do I let Harry talk me into these things?
Ron raised his wand and apparated himself to Paddington.